


When the World Gets Quiet

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in an AU where the minutes until you meet your supposed soulmate are counted down on a small device on your wrist the universe appears to have gotten something wrong when it comes to Sam and Dean Winchester.</p><p>Eventual Sabriel and Destiel.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Zeroed Out

**Author's Note:**

> this is a WIP mutli-chapter fic. Please review! Thank you.

Dean’s clock went off at sixteen.

Sam’s followed by fifteen seconds.

It was Easter Sunday and John Winchester had at long last accepted one of the many invitations given out for his family to join in on one of the neighborhood block parties. Chuck Shurely, a man only a little older than John who was a single father much like him had passed the news along, urging him to go. Chuck had moved only recently, but he seemed to be received fairly well by the homeowners, making more social headway than John had in the ten years he’d lived there.

John’s clock was blank; it had been blank since Mary Winchester had died before they moved into this pleasant suburban haven. Dean remembered her faintly; Sam had only been six months old. It seemed however that they carried the burden of their unknown mother just as much as their father did. The Winchesters were well known for being tight knit, they depended solely on themselves and the boys were not particularly friendly at school.

The family had never felt so out of place as when they had walked into the Shurely house. Dean’s eyes wandering around all the people lining the entryway chatting happily. Sam’s clothes were a little on the small side, he had just hit a growth spurt while his older brother was just beginning to fill out. At sixteen and twelve they made for a comical sight.

Chuck greeted John with a clap on the back and he nodded to the brothers, shaking their hands in turn. “I didn’t know if your dad told you this but I’ve got some boys around your age, four of ‘em.” Dean noticed that Mr. Shurely didn’t have a timer at all; he had never seen someone without it. “They like to play video games and roughhouse, just like you.” Sam perked up at the mention of playmates but his older brother merely scowled, edging himself slightly closer to his younger counterpart. Chuck looked at them both with a knowing smile and held up a hand as if to tell them just to wait a bit longer. “BOYS!” his voice echoed up the stairs. “WHY DON’T YOU ALL COME ON DOWN?”

There was some grumbling from the direction of the upstairs but one by one they began the process of walking downstairs. The first one appeared to be the youngest, a boy with a mess of brown hair atop his head and peaceful blue eyes that made him look wise beyond his years. He got halfway down the steps when he made eye contact with Dean and his cheeks flooded with color, averting his eyes as he clumsily continued his progress. Chuck grabbed his shoulders and pulled him towards the little group, pushing him forward slightly as if in offering to the Winchesters. “This is my youngest, Castiel, he’s fourteen. Cas say hello to our guests.”

Castiel met Sam’s eyes and nodded. “Hello.” His voice was gentle but already the process of puberty appeared to be deepening it. He was of medium height and his long limbs gave signs of him filling out.

Sam smiled in earnest, offering his hand to be shaken which Castiel did not take. “I’m Sam, this is Dean.” At the mention of the older boy the youngest Shurely’s face went red all over again. Dean frowned at him suspiciously before there was a whoop from the top of the stairs and attention was diverted momentarily.

The calm disposition of Castiel apparently did not carry over to his older brother, the boy sliding down the banister at rapid speed held no peaceful appearance about him. His hair was more of a golden color and his eyes were dark with mischief. Almost crash-landing on the floor but saving himself just seconds before he straightened up, brushing off his jacket and giving the two Winchesters the haughtiest smirk they’d ever seen.

Chuck sighed, clearly embarrassed at his son’s behavior, motioning helplessly to him. John looked sympathetic, having had to deal with Dean’s shenanigans more than once in his lengthy career as a parent. “This is Gabriel, he’s my third oldest. Gabe I think you’d get along with Dean, you boys look like you have some common interests. Maybe you two could go out and shoot cans with his bb gun.”

Gabriel Shurely did not greet the brothers, merely sized them up. He looked to be about fifteen, and he set his jaw in such a way that suggested he would not be going anywhere with Dean. “Hi.” His tone was short and terse, eyes wandering over to Sam where he spared a wink that made the younger Winchester gape. He looked down at Castiel as well, who was still fairly red from his encounter with Dean and he connected the dots quickly, his expression lighting up at the potential chaos that could be caused. “You doin’ okay Cassie?”

“Don’t call me that.” Castiel muttered, still staring at the ground.

The third brother was considerably older than the others about eighteen, a man already it would seem. He was tall, broad shouldered with tousled hair much like Castiel’s and the same blue eyes. However where Castiel seemed submissive and shy this one was strong and possessed all qualities of a leader. He walked with purpose and stood only a bit taller than Dean. He reached the bottom of the steps and Chuck smiled, the smile of a proud father. “This is my oldest-,”

A small beeping noise interrupted him and all eyes went to Dean who was staring directly at the boy in front of him, brow crinkled. They made eye contact and the beeping was mirrored from the other. Castiel looked positively horrified at the sound and Gabriel’s mouth was in a delicate ‘o’ shape. John Winchester moved between his sons and grabbed Dean’s left wrist, turning it over where his timer was, the numbers read 00:00:00 and blinked with regularity. The other boy looked at his own, bearing it for everyone to see, where it had the same set of zeros.

“-Michael.” Finished Chuck in a mystified tone of voice.

“Holy shit!” crowed Gabriel, delighted. “Oh my God you zeroed out! With the neighbor’s kid!” this appeared to be too much for him to process as he ran his fingers through his hair. Michael looked up at Dean and the pair seemed unable to speak for a moment. Chuck and John were still fixated on the timers.

No one noticed that another boy had made his way down the steps, the last to show himself, and by process of elimination it could be guessed that he was the second-born. If anyone had been watching him they would’ve seen that his hair was the lightest of all four. Blue eyes like Michael and Castiel but they were too bright to be gentle or wise. They didn’t even hold the warm mischievous nature that Gabriel’s did, the looks in this one’s eyes was that of malice, a schemer and it’s possible this is where Gabriel might’ve first begun his life as a prankster. This brother made it all the way down the stairs without attention being drawn to him, tilting his chin up and taking in the scene before him, absorbing all the surprise and radiating indifference.

“Hello.” The first words he spoke, forcing people to stop and notice him. Chuck was jerked out of his trancelike state, dropping Michael’s arm and setting a tentative hand on this one’s shoulder. “I’m Lucifer.” He introduced himself before his father could.

Two new sets of beeps joined the chorus as Sam Winchester clasped a hand over his wrist to muffle the sound, hoping in vain it would make it go away. Lucifer Shurely frowned, looking at his own before staring back at the younger Winchester boy. He appeared disgusted with his clock as John took one look at the boy (he was at least sixteen and a half) and both Dean and his father stepped in front of Sam protectively.

“I zeroed out.” Sam said faintly, looking up at his older brother for guidance. “What do I do?”

Chuck peered at Lucifer’s clock with a skeptical look. “There has to have been some mistake.”

“Yes. Mistake.” John agreed. “I’m sorry, I think we need to go.”

Michael and Dean’s clocks had stopped beeping and they were now attempting to look anywhere but each other which proved difficult judging by how close they were. Gabriel was rolling on the floor laughing (“Lookit Lucifer, _my god he got stuck with the twelve year old_ ”) and Castiel had disappeared from the scene altogether.

Lucifer bypassed Dean and John who were too busy with their own respective issues at hand and he bent over to look at Sam full on. The boy gulped, hand still clenched tightly around his wrist where his clock beeped on. “Your name is Sam?” the Shurely boy asked, all intimidation sucked out in place of a somewhat pleasant tone.

Sam nodded shakily. “Yeah I’m Sam.”

Lucifer’s eyes flickered over his entire body, resting on his hair that had been growing longer each month. He seemed amused. “I am Lucifer.”

“Your dad likes weird names.” The younger Winchester commented.

“Michael and Gabriel seemed to make it out okay, not so much Cas and I.” the other responded, a glint in his eye.

The afternoon began and ended in less than half an hour, John pulled his sons from the house, Michael raised his hand in a dazed good-bye that Dean did not return as they stumbled down the front steps and into the car where they went on to the hospital. The doctors conducted as many tests as they could but all conclusions were the same. There was nothing wrong with the clocks at all and the fact that they had gone off so close together was simply a coincidence.

Driving home that night John looked in the review mirror at Sam, out of this situation he feared most for his youngest. Dean was a capable boy, he could take care of himself but Sammy was only twelve years old. “I want you both to stay away from those Shurely boys, understand me?”

“No problem.” Dean muttered, eyes outside the window.

“Yes.” Sam’s reply was quieter, holding less resolve.

  


	2. Homecoming

_Seven years later:_

Dean pushed his way into the empty house, rubbing his eyes as he tossed his keys on the table in the hallway that hadn’t moved since he was a boy. His bags were slung over his shoulder and his body ached from being in the car for such a long drive.

He hadn’t expected his childhood home to feel so desolate, it was almost eerie the way everything was so abnormally clean. The hospice worker must’ve tidied up before the end of her last shift; he knew Sam wouldn’t have set foot in this place with the wounds still fresh. Dean didn’t dare turn the lights on; he wanted to pretend that maybe everyone was asleep upstairs, that his brother and father weren’t there to greet him simply because he had gotten in too late.

It had been several years since he’d been in this hallway; he still remembered it like it was yesterday. Every creak in the hardwood from when he would sneak back from dates, every knick in the walls from when he and Sam would play rough, it was a fresh stab in the gut. He turned his head to where the entryway opened up into the living room and knew that hanging above the fireplace was a photograph his father had taken and framed from forever ago.

The light wasn’t even necessary; it might’ve been noon for all the darkness did to mask the memories in this place. He knew exactly what that photo looked like. His high school graduation, god what an occasion it had been, no one had really believed he would actually do it. Dean’s cap and gown was somewhere upstairs in his old room, he wondered if his father kept it (it was a stupid question, of course he had). The picture was composed of him and Sam hugging each other and grinning into the camera like idiots, Sam had just begun to fill out at that age and they were about even height. Dean remembered the day well; he had actually had the gall to think he could make it into some kind of college.

The Winchester didn’t step into the living room, instead he backed up and turned his attention to the stairs. Stepping as quietly as he could, as if there actually were sleeping people upstairs, he made his way into the corresponding hallway and yelped as his thigh collided with a sharp corner of what appeared to be an end table. Cursing the fact that someone deemed it okay to shift furniture around Dean pawed the wall for a light switch, flicking it on to kick the little wooden chest of drawers out of his way, knocking a picture frame onto the ground as he did so.

Grumbling he debated leaving it there but it felt like desecrating holy ground, and after thinking twice he stooped to pick it up, flipping it over to ensure it wasn’t broken. The photo was recent, his father must’ve put it there sometime within the year judging from Sam’s physique.

He was smiling outside what could’ve been a makeshift tree farm, the kind that went up in grocery store parking lots around Christmastime. He had a beanie on and a scarf, arms linked with a more serious partner with eyes that were far too bright a blue to be considered warm. Dean scowled, he didn’t talk often with his brother but he hadn’t even thought about who might’ve been occupying his time nowadays. Lucifer Shurely at twenty-three still very much resembled his younger self, cold and uncaring just the same. They had spent too much time with the Shurely boys when they were younger and Dean knew that he had his moments, but a genuine smile from him was a rare happening. He set the picture back on the table but put it flat on its face before continuing down the hall to his room.

It was colder than the rest of the house, which told him how little the door was opened. All his old things were still there, it was the one place he felt comfortable turning on the light. His school things were tacked up on the wall, every detention notice pinned like an award, every truancy notice prized like some kind of failure trophy. He had begun doing it after Sam started winning science fairs; he figured he might as well show off his achievements as well.

Snippets of photos were taped to his ceiling, his desk was littered with scrap paper and porn magazines he didn’t take with him when he left. Dean wondered if his father had gone poking around after he left but after finding that his hidden jar of pot was still relatively untouched under his bed he concluded no. All in all his time capsule of a bedroom was completely intact and he hated it.

The whole week had turned into a steaming pile of shit and looking at all these reminders of what he had lost was too much. The letters his dad had written him from the road when he was out on hunting trips with his Uncle Bobby were still in his desk drawer, Dean didn’t dare touch them, instead he dumped his bags on the bed and stowed away across the hall to his younger brother’s room.

It was just as cold and more tidy than he remembered it being when he left, which only meant Sammy had grown cleaner and more respectful with age. It was a depressing thought, but at the moment almost every thought was. Without thinking he took a seat on the bed, his hand balling into a fist as he grabbed the soft fabric of the comforter. If he had his way, he would burn this house to the ground tonight.

His phone buzzed, jarring him from his thoughts as he fumbled with his pockets, squinting at the home screen, the letters spelling out ‘SAM’. Clicking the green button he pressed it to his ear and exhaled, his hand letting go of the bed as he did so. “Sam.”

“Dean, did you make it in?” the words they exchanged were those of strangers. It sounded like a bank teller asking after your weekend, completely devoid of personal feeling. It had really been too long.

“Yeah, I’m inside. It’s… really clean.”

“The nurse agency said they cleaned everything up. Are you sure you don’t want to stay in a motel for the night?”

“C’mon Sammy this is home.” It felt like a bigger lie when he said it aloud. His brother knew it; he could almost visualize him setting his jaw in distaste.

The next question hadn’t been anticipated and caught Dean a little off guard. “Did you come alone?”

“What?” the older Winchester stumbled over his words. “Yeah I’m alone. Michael and I are taking some time.”

“You mean he threw you out again.” There was amusement in Sam’s tone, Dean failed to see the humor.

“I mean exactly what I fucking said okay.” He snapped back. “It’s late I’m going to bed unless you wanna stay up late and talk about _your_ creepy boyfriend.”

He had struck a cord. Dean could tell from the way there was a constricted breath on the other end of the line. There weren’t any words spoken for a bit and only when he checked did he realize his brother had simply hung up on him. He would apologize tomorrow, he didn’t feel like calling back was worth the effort.

Standing up he looked through the open door to his room, laden with memories of a time he wasn’t willing to revisit just yet. Sam’s room held just as many, if not more but they were alien to him. He didn’t know the connections and the faces surrounding the bed and with a sigh he kicked his boots off and lay down on Sam’s bed. He would sleep with the lights on to keep the ghosts at bay.

Dean turned on his side and made eye contact with the photo by his brother’s bed. It was from a lifetime ago, shortly after Dean’s seventeenth birthday. A stoic Michael was looking down at Dean from the arm of the sofa in the Shurely living room, arm around his shoulder while Gabriel was joking with Sam who had his head thrown back in laughter. Lucifer was seen almost out of the shot, glaring at his younger brother with a menacing look. Castiel sat beside Dean, a smile on his face but it did not touch his eyes. After the initial panic that had gotten the two families off to the wrong start John Winchester and Chuck Shurely started reintroducing the children to each other. The latter part of Dean’s teenage years were spent almost entirely with those four. Looking back he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

He had hated his clock, after turning eighteen he had seen if any doctors offered removal services but each and every one said that clocks were stationed too close to a major blood vessel and removing it could mean his life. ‘Soulmates’ was a very definite thing, stuck to one person forever and he knew his so young it was as if Michael’s presence was suffocating him from living his life. He resented it, then as they got older they just kind of pushed together, same with Sam and Lucifer, everyone expected it and it was just easier than trying to fight. People talked about their clocks zeroing out as some kind of magical experience, that their one true love was their missing puzzle piece.

Dean had always believed that the universe had fucked up with him. He and Michael fought more than they got along, it was a vicious cycle riddled with alcohol, punches, and shouting matches neither won. When he was thrown out of the house the night before he was going to leave to head back up to Lawrence he felt relief. Freedom from being shoved into this life that didn’t fit him. They said that after making eye contact with your perfect match you almost immediately begin to fall in love, that the clock makes no mistakes. Dean spent his first year after zeroing out running away from Michael but he was always there.

It was hard to remember what actually made him say yes. He remembered that in that moment he had felt that something could work, the way Michael’s eyes seemed to light up when he nodded dejectedly with a tired ‘okay’. His supposed ‘soulmate’ had taken his hand and tilted his chin up to snag their lips and Dean Winchester in all his teenage ignorance kissed back, letting the hormones swirl. It was his greatest regret, that he had let that happen and now he feared he was chained for life.

No one understood, especially those that had zeroed out. Sam and Lucifer became close when Sammy turned thirteen. The age gap alone made Dean and his father wary, but it seemed the Shurely was innocent of any bad intentions. He became Sam’s friend before he became anything else and Dean watched from afar, wondering if that’s how relationships like that go. Lucifer was a conniving son of a bitch sure, but there was no denying that he enjoyed Sam and Sam enjoyed him. In the early years maybe he was only present to give the younger Winchester rides to school, or to pick him up and help him with his homework but as Sam got older it began to develop. Dean left the house at eighteen but even then he could see the foundations for a relationship being forged and he despised it. He disliked that his brother could be so happy with someone the universe randomly dictated would be his. It was right up there with arranged marriages to him.  

The clock on the bedside table read 2:34 AM and he cursed, rubbing his face. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, he was going to need all the rest he could get but sleep wouldn’t come to him. He hadn’t been to a funeral since his mothers, and he didn’t like to use that as reference for how this one would turn out. The procession was driving out to the cemetery where she was buried and their father would be lowered into a hole just beside hers like he wanted.

John Winchester was a modern marvel, his wife left him with two boys he really knew nothing about and he just rolled with it. Dean never questioned how much his father loved his mother; it was a constant in a world that was all too susceptible to change. Never once had his dad even looked at another woman and he wore his blank clock like a second wedding ring to show all that his one and only had come and gone long ago and trying to strike up conversation with those intentions would be fruitless.

His father was a strong man, and he had held out against the cancer festering in his lungs longer than anyone had anticipated but the jig was up. John Winchester was dead, like his mother and he knew it was stupid but in this moment in his empty house he had never felt quite so alone. He had Sam, but not entirely, part of his younger brother belonged to that Omen reject. He never counted Michael as his to begin with even though the laws of nature deemed it so.

Self-pity was a crushing thing and he knew he’d have plenty of time tomorrow to sulk, his thinking had made him exhausted and with his face buried in his brother’s pillow he dozed off to face the day approaching all too fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon, please review.


	3. Funeral

Sam had not seen his brother for quite some time, he had gotten phone calls and texts and updates from his father but he had not physically stood by Dean in years. Back then he had seemed taller.

John Winchester’s coffin was shiny, a bright cherry finish on the wood. For a man who seldom spoke to people Sam was sure he’d be surprised at the amount of people that had come to his funeral. People in Lawrence held a sense of community even if you had never counted yourself among it.

Among his father’s close friends there were also his coworkers from the KAZ Auto Repair shop he had worked at for countless years, the entirety of the Shurely family (including the cousins Balthazar and Uriel with their father Zachariah. Perhaps they were even stranger than Chuck’s brood.), and the Harvelles who owned the bar John Winchester frequented every day after work for an hour.

Sam had managed to keep a mask in place throughout the ceremony; Uncle Bobby as per their father’s last wishes was head of the whole ordeal. It didn’t seem right to hire a pastor after his dad had so adamantly insisted he didn’t want one. His uncle looked out of place in his nice suit, trucker hat still on top of his head as he stood up, a few sheets of paper in front of him. Sam looked over to see Dean across the way from him, the hole their father would be laid to rest in between them. The older Winchester was staring at a fixed point on the horizon, Sam knew that expression, and he knew that he was biting the inside of his cheek so his lip didn’t tremble. Knowing that his brother was so distressed almost made Sam himself lose it but he quickly shifted his eyes away and looked back to his uncle.

“Er, hello.” Bobby Singer began uneasily, surveying the solemn faces before him, lingering on his nephews a little longer than necessary. “My brother-in-law was a great man, one of the finest I had the pleasure of knowing. He was a strong individual who brought my sister happiness and when she passed on he didn’t lose himself to the bottle or any other means of escape. He shouldered his burden with hope, hope that his legacy and his actions would speak for him long after he was gone and his legacy stands before us today in the form of his two boys.”

The words steamrolled on, about his life and that the cancer only hurt him for a little bit and how truly blessed he was to have so many great people in his life. Sam wanted to jump in that hole with him, he wanted to be a ten year old boy again, to run at his father’s legs and grab his jeans and say he was scared. To have his father pick him up and show him around his room to prove there were no monsters or ghosts. _“Ghosts are afraid of us Sammy. We have something they don’t know about. We have love.”_ His father would never comfort him again because his father was dead in a box three feet away from him.

Sam looked up, eyes moving across the hole past Dean to where Lucifer was watching him. The only one missing from the procession had been Michael and for good reason, the last thing that they needed was a fight breaking out during the reception. Gabriel looked drunk, he might’ve been, he had always gotten on exceptionally well with John, almost like a third son. Lucifer resented the fact that Gabriel was welcomed when he was not, he didn’t say but it was obvious in his behavior.

If you were to ask Sam would say that he certainly loved Lucifer, they were soulmates, that was the way it was supposed to go. Dean acted all high and mighty about his clock but in the end even he had said yes to Michael.

 _“How do you know that’s your best option?”_ his brother had demanded to know, eyes searching his own. _“How do you know that’s what you’re stuck with forever?”_ Sam didn’t understand the question, he had heard of people who avoided their soulmates but their lives were never happy ones. Sam had never had another option; it had always been Lucifer, by default.

They were lowering their father into his grave now, he watched with hooded eyes, it was Dean’s birthright to take the first handful of dirt and toss it in but he didn’t move from his spot. People looked at him expectantly but he stayed fixed with a stricken expression on his face. Sam knew the feeling.

“Dean.” His voice was prompting, his brother looked up at him and the green eyes were glassy. When he at last moved the motions were robotic and jerky. He picked up a fist full of dirt and dropped it atop the glossy coffin and then the crowd stood for Bobby’s closing statements before beginning to disperse.

People walked up to both of them to offer condolences, Sam stopped to speak with a few, glancing back at Dean to see how he was dealing. The older Winchester was stomping across the cemetery, yanking his tie off as he stalked towards the Impala. Dean always grieved best alone nursing a bottle, that had been the issue in the past and it seemed it still remained to haunt him in the future.

One of them had to stay and so Sam merely sighed and took a seat, waiting for all of the guests to file out to their cars. There would be a reception at their old house in about an hour, everything was laid out and ready to go but the younger Winchester didn’t mind taking a few moments of silence before he had to leave his dad.

When the crowd thinned he looked back to see one lean figure in his black coat, watching him mildly. “It’s time to go.” Lucifer murmured, pulling on his sleeve. Sam nodded.

“Yeah, just give me a second.” He told him. The other man waited a few heartbeats before walking  towards the direction of their car. He had never been praised for his patient nature. Sam turned and set his hand on the tombstone hesitantly before deciding it felt all wrong and removing it. “…See you later dad.” He said after a minute or two. Awkwardly he stood, staring at the letters on his mother’s grave as well before following after Lucifer.

The car ride was quiet, the rows of vehicles lining the street made him feel inexplicably tired. He wondered if it was possible to make everyone go home so he could sleep in the living room. Funerals really sapped your energy, he hadn’t known this previously but it made sense he supposed. They pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, the sky was turning gray.

Lucifer walked on ahead into the house, not sparing him a sideways glance as he let himself in. Sam didn’t comment, he liked the silence right now. He scanned the street and was a little surprised to see Gabriel smoking a cigarette on the curb, face more serious than he had ever seen.

Gabriel was a mystery to him, a puzzle that he could never quite solve and while it was fascinating sometimes his usually wild stance on everything could be a bit disconcerting. Sam debated ignoring him and walking inside but going inside meant dealing with the reception and at the moment he wasn’t ready for that. Shoving his hands deep inside his pockets he made his way across the front yard to take a seat next to the man he’d known since he was twelve.

Gabe looked over at him, his dark eyes seemed uninterested as he dragged the last few available puffs of the cigarette, flicking the butt into the street to light another. “Hey Sammy.” He said in greeting. He had begun calling the Winchester by that name after discovering his discomfort with being referred to as such by anyone not a member of his family. After a while Sam had given up trying to get him to stop and he had just been lumped with the people permitted to call him by that nickname.

“How’s it going?” Sam replied, he was much taller than Gabriel and sitting on the curb his knees were in danger of hitting him in the face, with a slight wince he readjusted so his legs splayed out across the asphalt in a more tolerable position.

The Shurely seemed amused by the game of pretend they had just begun. “Not so good, some guy I know just decided to keel over. Real selfish of him.” He threw back, running his fingers through his hair as he sucked in enough smoke to kill a small child.

Sam made a face to communicate his mock-indignation. “Wow people these days, just can’t trust them to do anything. As it happens I just got back from a funeral.”

“Really? Could we have been at the same funeral? I think I would’ve remembered seeing you… ya know because you’re probably the tallest guy in Kansas.” A smile was on Gabe’s face.

“Well fate drove us here together so you never really know do you?” the other man told him seriously. The Shurely crushed the last big of the cigarette under the heel of his boot as he stood, offering a hand to Sam who took it.

He didn’t mean to but he looked down to grab hold of him and he spotted his wrist, the numbers stationed there like so many others. It was normally considered rude to look at someone else’s clock but it was only for a second and then he was upright and the hand was gone. He had seen the countdown though. 4390:45:07. After a quick math session in his head, 4390 days evened out to roughly twelve years. He looked back to Gabriel as they made their way up the steps to the house, his brow furrowed. He had barely become aware of his clock by the time he zeroed out, but Gabriel still had so much more to go. He pondered what kind of person it would be. He stared too long and the Shurely’s eyes found his and for a moment they stood still.

Then the door opened and hands closed on Sam’s sleeve, tugging him inside and away. Gabriel raised a hand in farewell, some of his normal sarcastic smirk back on his face. The Winchester raised his hand back and then grew confused as he watched the man put his hands in his pockets and walk back down the steps to the street where he turned the corner on the sidewalk and then was gone.

He looked at who had the grip on his arm and wasn’t all too shocked to see Lucifer, staring after his brother with an unpleasant expression on his face. “Where’s he going?” Sam asked, mystified.

“Who cares.” He replied. “Bobby’s waiting for you in the living room.” And with that he was nudged further down the hallway.

Lucifer was jealous by nature, he had never much liked sharing his things and Sam was never sure if he should be flattered or uncomfortable that he fell within that scope. On several occasions it had done him good, kept him out of trouble but the strange and ever present rivalry between the two Shurely brothers grew fiercer each year. The reasoning behind it was unknown to most everyone except Michael it would seem, for whenever he was around he would shoot Gabriel knowing looks and tell him to ‘stop antagonizing’. He had never thought much of it; it seemed to be Gabriel’s job to antagonize.

His uncle had only wanted to know where Dean had run off to and once Sam couldn’t provide a decent answer he shook his head and muttered something about the Winchesters causing him nothing but trouble in his sour old man tone of voice. The rest of the reception was spent in mostly silence, people giving their respects and bringing gifts of food and old photo albums to share their memories of John. Sam was sobered up once more, his previous interaction with Gabriel forgotten but not the numbers on his wrist, he wasn’t sure why this struck him on such a deep level. The notion that he would be alone for so long, yet he didn’t seem the least bothered by it.

It reminded him of Mr. Shurely, the fact that he bore no clock and he cared little for them. Both son and father had the same look in their eyes, Sam couldn’t quite place it but as he ushered the last of the guests out of his house and kissed Lucifer good-bye, watching him drive down the street it hit him, the look.

It was freedom.


	4. Cas

Dean’s felt bad about leaving Sam to deal with the hoards of people. Strike two in only a span of a couple hours, he sat in his car for a bit and debated the pros and cons of staying back with his brother and selfish need won out and with a sigh he started his car and sped away.

The neon lights of the bar drew him in like a moth to flame, Dean changed out of his suit jacket in the car, he felt like some kind of trained monkey in that thing anyway. The air was warm as he stepped out and into the dark, smoky room.

It was too early to have acquired much business, there was a man who presumably worked there behind the bar and a stray patron shooting pool but other than that he didn’t see anyone else. Sitting down heavily on a stool he slapped down some cash. “Tequila.” He told the bartender who nodded and poured him what he asked for.

It went down burning, but Dean had long since gotten over it. It was a comfort to him now, the unpleasant bitter taste a wake up call to let him know he was still alive and that life would have to go on. The alcohol sullied his mind for a bit, giving him time to collect himself.

He had a feeling he would run out of cash before he ran out of tolerance for the drinks that were lining up, his joint account with Michael was always open however. He could just tell him that he had needed a place to stay for the night when the man came calling after finding seventy five dollars missing. He fumbled with his credit card, his hand gripped tight around the neck of the beer bottle. “One more please.” Dean slurred slightly.

He had no idea how long he’d been there, but people were beginning to fill the place out, a woman was looking him over a ways down the bar and in all his drunken allure he attempted to wink at her but accidentally blinked instead. There was a rowdy party over by the billiards table and their happiness made him sour. Didn’t they know his father had just died? Couldn’t they show a little respect?

Taking a swig of his beer he debated going to tell them to shut up, it seemed like a great idea now with that warm liquid swirling around in his brain. He hadn’t been in a good fight with someone who wasn’t Michael in ages. Placing a hand firmly on the hardwood bartop to keep his balance he began the lengthy process of getting off the barstool, only almost falling once which meant to Dean that he was perfectly capable of throwing a few punches.

The bartender looked at him and shook his head slightly as if he was reading his mind. “Son why don’t you just sit down and have another drink, they ain’t worth your time.” His voice was soothing and wiggling between the logic of Dean’s desire for a fight. He softened up just a bit and looked over to the man, shoulder’s sagging a bit.

“My dad’s funeral was today.” He mumbled, clambering back onto the bench. “He’s dead.”

The older man nodded sympathetically, polishing his mugs and glasses. “I’m sorry kid, that’s rough, maybe you should start headin’ home. I can call a cab for you if you like.”

Dean glared up at him defiantly. “I’m not ready to go yet, gimme another.”  He motioned with his hand obnoxiously until a beer filled it.

It continued on like this for a few hours, the bar grew more and more busy and Dean had the sense to not pick any fights, hunching further and further over his beer bottles that were stacking up. He hated that he felt so empty, usually there was at least some kind of distraction to stop it up and make sure he didn’t have to focus on it for so long but when stripped away he just felt like some kind of shell. What was a good distraction? He wracked his brain looking for what he was missing. Michael.

His phone was a lot harder to operate when drunk, but he managed to push all the buttons in to dial, listening patiently to the tone.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end was difficult to hear over the noise but he managed.

“Michael,” Dean said sluggishly, yet trying to convey his seriousness. “Michael it’s…. Dean.” He trailed off at random moments in the sentence to make sure his tongue could keep up with him.

“Yeah I know this is Dean, I have your number in my phone. What do you want.” The words didn’t sound too encouraging but the Winchester persisted.

He cleared his throat and took a drink. “Michael I lo-,” something across the room caught his attention.

It was Michael. But it wasn’t Michael. The man standing on the opposite end of the bar staring at him had the same blue eyes and hair, was he drunk enough to be hallucinating? This one wasn’t as tall and had a different build however; he was intrigued by this strange apparition. The ghost took a sip of his beer, eyes still firmly fixed on him and then it clicked.

“Cassstiel.” He breathed into the phone.

Michael didn’t seem to understand. “Dean? Dean I can’t hear you? Are you in a bar, Jesus Christ are you drun-.” The man didn’t get a chance to finish hurling his distaste in Dean’s lifestyle because Dean hung up on him when he saw Castiel Shurely making his way across the haze of the bar.

“Hi.” He offered, eyes still rooted to his face. However he did notice that the man was wearing a black suit and it occurred to him that maybe he had come from the funeral too. He hadn’t seen him there, but he hadn’t seen much of anything with that god awful hole in front of him that was supposed to swallow his father.

Castiel set his beer down on the bar and glanced back up at him and even drunk Dean could tell the differences now. Despite his newly acquired stoicism he still appeared to be very much the fourteen year old boy the Winchester had met that Easter so many years ago. His eyes were tentative and he still appeared rather shy. “Hello Dean.” The man returned, his voice had finally deepened out completely.

“Did Sammy send you here to come collect me?” Dean blurted out, Cas looked surprised at the sudden change of pace but took it admirably in stride.

“No, I didn’t even know you were here until a few minutes ago, have you been here since the funeral ended?” he asked, checking his watch.

“Why wha’ time is it?” the other man questioned in return.

“It’s ten, you left around four.”

“Hmph.” Was all Dean could reply, taking another swig of his beer. Castiel’s eyes roamed over all of the beer glasses and set a hand on his shoulder.

Dean being the smooth gentlemen that he is jerked away as if it had burned him and nearly fell off his barstool. “Do you need a ride home?” he asked.

The Winchester hadn’t really stopped staring at Castiel the whole time he’d been over here, he saw so many similarities between the two brothers it made his chest ache. Not because he particularly missed Michael but more so because he felt lonely and normally when he felt lonely he liked to drink and fuck his way out of it. He was drunk enough that Cas took on enough of Michael to be familiar, he liked familiar. The Shurely was still talking to him, something about how he should maybe drive him back to the old house, and how he was sure Sam was waiting for him.

Dean knew that Sam was probably only waiting for him to kick his ass and now it was a genuine problem because Sam had grown bigger than him and in this state he wasn’t sure how many punches he could withstand. He’d much rather wake up in a stranger’s bed then get kicked out of his respective house twice in one week. Dean leaned in a little closer to Cas and tilted his chin up to look at him with a little smirk, half-lidded eyes roaming over his face. “What if I don’t wanna go home.”

Castiel was still Castiel it seemed, he had enough of the old in him to blush. It was barely undetectable in the dim lighting but Dean caught it and his smirk grew into a smile. “You’re drunk.” He told him, trying to take a step back.

“I know.” The Winchester retorted, grabbing the trench coat the man was wearing over his suit and pulled him into a kiss.

This was as satisfied as intended but for different reasons. He was hoping to find peace in the familiar, with Michael’s younger photocopy but he didn’t. It seemed Cassie had established himself as a unique individual, especially in the way he kissed. It was like dealing with another person altogether and Dean decided that at least he would get laid tonight and wouldn’t have to go home.

He knew exactly what to say and how to play his cards right, however he doubted he would remember any of this in the morning, he usually didn’t. Castiel had to help him into the passenger seat and for a split second Dean felt a bit guilty, he had forgotten how young the man before him was. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were red and it made him look like a teenager, leaving Dean to feel like some kind of perverted old man despite the age difference being only two years. The guilt withered with the new round of kissing that took place inside the car.

Cas’s apartment was small and it all became some kind of smudge in his memory exactly what happened, he had staggered when he pulled his shirt off and Castiel went pliant underneath his grip. “Dean.” His voice had become a high pitched whine and he almost stopped right there. Michael had never sounded like that, Michael was the one that pinned him against the wall.

Their bodies fit together nicely however, Dean worked Castiel over in his hand until the younger man was reduced to a shivering mass in his arms. That felt nice, being able to do that. The alcohol weighed on him heavily however and he remembers the cries and the whimpers and every kiss and bite but the actions didn’t seem to resonate with him quite as nicely.

When their hips had mashed awkwardly and both were dangerously close to reaching their release Dean knew it was a mistake as soon as he groaned out the wrong name. The way Castiel stiffened for a moment before continuing as though nothing had happened.

“Michael.”

He woke up in the morning with a pounding in his head and confusion as to how he ended up there and who he had been with, the body sleeping a ways away from him on the couch was turned away and he only knew from the state of the sheets what had transpired. It had been a good night, that was the gist of it, an affair never to be repeated with the same person twice. Gently he eased his clothes back on and left, typing out a ‘good morning I love you’ text to Michael to ease this feeling in his gut that he had done something wrong. 


	5. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the general rule of thumb is that I will write and upload a chapter daily, just so everyone knows.

Sam had ended up staying the night inside the house, setting up camp in his old room. The night was fitful, his mind buzzing with the discoveries of that day and Gabriel’s clock would not leave his thoughts. When he woke up that morning he felt less rested than he had in ages and rubbing his eyes he walked downstairs and saw Dean had thrown himself haphazardly on the couch, a trash can by his face in the event he needed to throw up. It seemed he was old hat at this by now, which was mildly concerning to his brother. He wondered if he should just leave him or wake him up and let him answer to his crimes of yesterday until he noticed how rumpled his older brother’s clothing was, the way his hair was skewed.

Sam’s anger ignited as he was once again confronted with just how selfish Dean truly was. His first time showing his face around in years and he slinked off from his own father’s funeral to go get laid. “You’ve reached a new low Dean.” He said.

The body on the couch stirred, one eye cracking open to look at him and the older Winchester stretched like some kind of housecat, waving his arm groggily. “Hey Sammy.”

“Where the fuck were you yesterday huh? At your own father’s reception?! You bailed on me Dean.” Sam said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting at him.

The hostile tone appeared to trouble Dean and he tried to sit up, reaching out to his younger brother with a frown on his face. “Sam c’mon-,”

“No don’t you ‘Sam c’mon’ me! I don’t know what kind of bullshit you put Michael through but I’m not a little kid anymore. I don’t take your lies at face value. The point is you left me, and then you came back to leave me again to go fuck someone.” Sam felt a little weird having to be the one to yell at his older brother but no one else was going to do it he might as well.

Turns out Dean didn’t take well to having his younger brother yelling at him and was more than happy to rise to the challenge. “I’m sorry okay! What do you want me to say? I wanted to sit in this stuffy fucking house with a bunch of people I barely know tell me how sorry they are for me? I’m not gonna say it because I didn’t want to be here which is why I left!” he snapped back. “I left because I had to go.”

“I think maybe you should think about leaving again in the next few days.” Sam said coldly, tilting his chin up to further accent just how tall he had really grown in Dean’s absence. The look on the older Winchester’s face told him that he would happily punch him in the face regardless of his height.

Dean sized his brother up before slumping his shoulders. “You know what I think that’d be just dandy with me. Why don’t you call your creep of a boyfriend and tell him to come pick you up because I can’t deal with you right now.” The defiant spark in his eyes never seemed to quite leave and Sam would’ve loved nothing more than to slap that self-satisfied tone out of his voice but he let it drop.

Walking upstairs he made sure to step heavier than he normally would’ve to let his older brother know just how pissed he was, slamming his door for good measure. His clothes smelled musty, the black suit jacket hanging limp in his hands. He would go home but he wouldn’t call Lucifer, both he and his brother were too explosive and it wouldn’t be the first time the two had gotten into a fistfight, that time all it had taken was a nasty look.

When he pulled an old flannel over his head and walked back downstairs he didn’t look twice into the living room at Dean, he smelled coffee and knew the poor bastard was trying to beat the hangover before it set in and for all it was worth Sam prayed he was immobile with a headache the rest of the day. Anger simmering just below the surface he stepped outside the house and smelled the chilly air that was heralding the sun as it made its climb into the sky.

He could walk into town he guessed, Dean’s car was also most likely unlocked, he wondered what his big brother would do if he stole it for a few hours. Exhaling and seeing his breath slightly in the light he thought he better not and started down the sidewalk in the direction of town. What he didn’t count on was the body sitting out a lawn chair in front of the Shurely house.

Since Mr. Shurely had gotten older and more or less all of his children had moved out his house had fallen a bit into disrepair. Some siding was becoming loose and the lawn had gone a little yellow and patches were missing. In the middle of the grass however was Gabriel, looking surprisingly put together in his shorts and t-shirt, smoking a cigarette as usual with a lofty expression on his face as though that piece of plastic he was sitting on was a solid gold throne. “Fancy seeing you here Sammy.” He called from the other side of the street.

Sam raised his eyebrows, unsure of what to do. “Yeah I’m just on my way to get some breakfast.” He jabbed a thumb in the general direction of where he was headed. Gabe seemed amused and he stood, stretching his arms and flicking his cigarette away from him.

“I just made breakfast. C’mon.” the Shurely motioned with his head. Sam felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

“No it’s okay-,”

“I don’t think I asked?” Gabe said with some kind of annoying lilt in his voice that was present more often than it wasn’t when he spoke. “Let’s go Sammy.” And he walked inside, the screen door hanging open waiting for him and Sam felt like an idiot standing on the other side of the street in clothes he wore yesterday to a funeral. He stood there for a bit debating whether or not to go in but before he knew it he found himself closing the screen door behind him.

Sam was no stranger to this house; he had probably spent more time in it than he had spent in his own over the course of his teenage years. The kitchen was well-worn from seeing six boys being shoved into it eating countless dinners over the course of seven years. Mr. Shurely himself was missing and the younger Winchester thought maybe he was upstairs sleeping still, it was relatively early.

Gabriel scratched the back of his head as he lit another cigarette in the kitchen, winking as Sam when he opened his mouth to complain. “My house my rules Losechester. Take a seat.” He picked up a spatula and stabbed it in the direction of one of the chairs by the countertop. Sam did as he was told and Gabe while whistling some obscure tune flipped some pancakes he had piled up on the back of the stove and slide the plate over to the Winchester, tossing a fork in afterthought.

Sam picked at the food on the plate, ensuring it wasn’t poisoned or tampered with in any way before taking a hesitant bite, glancing warily at Gabriel who nodded his encouragement as though his guest was some kind of mentally deficient idiot. “Well what do you think?”

“’T’s good.” Sam replied, spearing a few more and taking a more confident mouthful. Gabe beamed, reaching across to pick up a pancake with his bare hands and shove it into his face, ignoring the Winchester’s glare.

They both ate in silence for a bit, Sam watching Gabriel go about cleaning up, setting things in the sink and threatening to stab him in the hand if he took any more of his breakfast. He wasn’t sure what had merited this strange bonding session but he was grateful for the food. The Shurely looked over to him, catching him staring again and Sam felt embarrassed, trying to shift his eyes.

“Where’s your brother?” he asked, scrubbing a stray pan that he nabbed from the stove.

“Sleeping off his hangover.” Sam snorted back, lifting his arms so that his now empty plate could be taken and dropped in the sink by the other man. “He got drunk last night and came back from wherever he went this morning.”

There was the sound of a car pulling into the driveway outside and Gabe looked up momentarily before going back to his chore, Sam leaned a little to the side to peer through the doorway to see who it was. A rather rumpled figure entered in, running his fingers through his already mussed hair. He skidded to a halt upon seeing Sam and his eyes widened a bit, his lips pressing into a thin line. Gabriel glanced over and his own face split into a grin. “Hey Cassie, have a rough morning?” his teasing ignited Castiel Shurely’s cheeks as he shook his head.

“Shut up.” He muttered weakly.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the increasingly darkening bruise on Cas’s neck, it looked like he had had an even rougher night. The man noticed the eyes on him and he stared back at the Winchester with those gigantic owl eyes that made Sam feel as if he was entirely transparent.

“You were saying?” Gabe prompted, attempting to light up another cigarette but Sam, put out by the hazy air of the kitchen leaned over and snatched his pack away from him. “Fuck you.” Was all he got in reply as the older Shurely reached into his back pocket and procured another pack, smirking smugly.

Despite every single person who knew Gabriel’s determination to get him to quit he always seemed to have stashes of cigarettes everywhere, so much that it had become a running game between the Shurelys and the Winchesters to see who could successfully make him stop. No one had won yet but Castiel had made the most headway by keeping tabs on his usually spots and dumping the supplies. Hope had nearly been lost however when even Castiel pronounced the effort futile and dropped out of the race.

“What was I saying? Oh, right, Cas get a load of this Dean left after the service yesterday right? He comes back this morning and I swear to god he’s still drunk. He was making coffee when I left but I hope he’s puking his guts up.” Sam told the younger Shurely who had gone a mysterious shade of pale as he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing.

Gabe peered at him, brows furrowed as though he could read Castiel’s thoughts if he tried hard enough. “What’s wrong Cassie? I never knew you to be that much of a blushing virgin. Do you still have wet dreams about that loser?” he scoffed. Sam watched the youngest of the three recover quickly, shaking his head as he sat down next to him, his face composed.

“Don’t make me throw up my breakfast Gabriel.” Castiel replied.

“Oh riiight forgot you’re promised to your one true love, Jesus people say Luci’s a creep but Crowley screams serial killer in big neon letters. It’s the accent I don’t trust it.” Gabriel retorted, the two brothers quickly fell into the familiar habit of arguing and Sam eased up a little, forgetting his troubles this morning.

Castiel was the quietest of them all, he was extremely shy even when around people he knew well and everyone had been aware that he had harbored a small crush on Dean in the beginning. The two had some strange friendship or something for a few years, it was this awkward shift between Dean being overly protective of him and them hanging around each other constantly without really saying anything. Out of all the Shurely brothers (minus Michael, who left with him) Cas took Dean’s leaving the hardest. Sam was glad when he had finally zeroed out, it gave him someone to be around and not pine over the older Winchester’s absence. Even if Crowley was a little hard to be around, even for Castiel. The two had known each other for two years and they still didn’t live together and Sam could swear Cas was actually afraid of him.

The different dynamics of people who had zeroed out fascinated him, the idea that the clocks pointed out your soulmate and people actually ignored it. People like Dean and Cas but to be fair if Sam had been lumped with Crowley he might’ve ignored him too.

“Oh my god is that a hickie?!” Gabriel’s delighted crow broke him out of his thought process as Castiel’s hands flew to cover his neck with a blush. “Did you and Crowley do the nasty last night?!” the older brother pressed.

Sam hid his mouth in his arms as he slunk down to keep from laughing, a thoroughly annoyed Castiel stormed upstairs while Gabriel hurled more words his way, snickering as he looked over at the Winchester. “And to think Sammy, our Cassie used to be such a nice boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: My laptop charger just broke so i will try to update as often as i can i am very distraught about this and i am so very sorry


	6. Lucifer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a minute, i'm a little rusty.

Dean didn’t ever remember the world being so bright, it blinded him and made his temples throb as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Sam had stormed out a bit ago, leaving Dean to sulk alone and think about what he’d done and it had been an unpleasant series of recollections so far. His phone hadn’t gone off once this morning and his text to Michael remained unanswered, even though the read receipts said that it had been seen three hours ago which was just another nail in the coffin as the Winchester pulled his shirt over his head and started the shower up. His muscles felt sore and he hoped the steam would soothe his head but it would probably just provide momentary relief. He coughed and his eyes snagged on a dark splotch on his skin in the reflection of the mirror, cursing as he leaned forward to inspect it. Perfect pinpricks where teeth had imbedded into his collarbone and several little bruises decorated his shoulder in the outline of fingerprints. The more intimate events of last night hit him like a truck.

He had slept with Castiel Shurley. He had fucked his soul mate’s little brother, and he had called him by the wrong name during sex. “Fuck.” he breathed softly, the sound of the shower obscuring the words in the tiny tiled bathroom. He stumbled back from the mirror, placing his hand over the marks as if that would make them go away and magically wipe away what he had done. Dean had never been a great forward thinker but this might’ve been the worst fuck up so far. He’d cheated on Michael before, if they were going by some people’s version of cheating, but this was something entirely different.

When you zeroed out with someone so early it was impossible not to want to explore your options, at least Dean didn’t think it was so unreasonable that he would want to see other people and get a taste of what was missing in his life. He had quickly discovered how taboo it was, how girls and boys alike had used to recoil when they looked at his clock. If he had met his soulmate already why was he wasting his time with them? That was the question that always sprung from their lips.

Michael had been resigned to his soul mate’s wild tendencies, pursuing him whilst he turned a blind eye to him dating other people. _“If this is a part of who you are then I accept it,"_ ” he had told a petulant and rebellious seventeen year old Dean Winchester. _“Some people need time to work it out but you’ll see eventually. We are meant to be, it’s fate.”"_

Having sex with someone on a break from their relationship wasn’t a crime, it was unspoken but typically understood that was what happened when the fighting got too intense and one of them took off. Dean had always felt twinges of guilt because he would never catch Michael stumbling home with the smell of someone else lingering on him. The Shurely had never looked at anyone else ever, he had latched to Dean with a frightening single-minded intensity. Maybe the strength of his devotion was another thing that always kept the Winchester desperate to wiggle from his grasp, it rarely felt like true love, just the desire to keep him close like a possession.

Dean dropped his boxers to the floor and stepped into the shower, slumping against the wall as water poured down over his face. He had remembered hearing a while back that Cas had zeroed out with someone from Michael, and Dean had thought little of it. Gabriel had used to tease Castiel about having a crush on the older Winchester but it had never affected their friendship at all, Dean had dismissed it as Gabriel being a dickhead anyway and Michael had never seemed overly concerned about it. Michael was never concerned about anyone, so confident was he in the inevitability of their relationship. He and Lucifer were like night and day in comparison, Michael never got jealous and Lucifer had been known to start fights over a man casting a passing glance at Sam.

Dean stood in the spray for a few more minutes before he lazily washed and rinsed himself off, trying to strip some of the nasty bar smell off of his skin. By the time he had finished the water had started to cool anyway and he nudged the faucet off with his elbow as he reached blindly towards the towel rack for something to dry off with. There was commotion downstairs as the noise from the shower died and Dean paused momentarily, wondering if Sam had come back for them to talk. He didn’t want to talk to his brother right now, he felt too exposed, as if the younger Winchester could look him in the eye and be able to see what he had done.

Cracking the door to the bathroom as steam spilled he heard the stairs creak. Clutching his clothes to his chest with the towel wrapped around his waist Dean made a quiet but quick bolt to his room just as he saw a figure reach the top step.

“Dean.” Lucifer’s voice was unimpressed, one eyebrow raised.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the Winchester said. “Do you mind? Can’t I fucking take a shower in my own house?” the Shurely cocked his head at him as Dean lifted his rumpled shirt and boxers a little higher to cover himself.

Lucifer put his hands in his pocket, unruffled as usual. His eyes were like knives, peeling sensitive layers of skin back to examine Dean. “I’m looking for Sam, do you have any idea where he might be?”

“No, he left early. Had some errands to run.” he had never been a good liar and Lucifer didn’t look like he was buying it for a second.

With his hands still in his pockets he casually strode forward to peer into Sammy’s empty room before his gaze drifted back to Dean. “Didn’t see you at the reception yesterday.” he said, words coming out smooth and oily.

Dean’s teeth were on edge. “Sam’s not here, get the fuck out of my house.”

Lucifer paused, mulling the sentence over as he strolled back to the top of the stairs. “I think it’s strange, that only now when everyone’s gone do you call this ‘your house’ again. I would think that cozy little place you’ve settled in with my brother would be home for you but I guess you were the type to never really appreciate things until they were gone.” his eyes lingered over the teeth marks and bruises on Dean’s skin with a wicked grin. “If you see Sam tell him to give me a call.”

Just as soon as he appeared he was gone, descending the steps and out the door like the last wisps of steam from the shower. Dean’s hand was balled into a fist, the usual feeling of unpleasant residue from seeing Lucifer sticking to him like a grease. It was enough to make him want to shower all over again. He wrenched the door to his old room open and dropped his clothes on the floor, not even bothering to change and just laying on his bed with his towle still rolled around his waist.

He reached on the bedside table for his phone, bad mood furthering as he saw no texts from Michael.


End file.
